


the sore spot

by Lake (beyond_belief)



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Brad Has Issues, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Spanking, Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-28
Updated: 2015-09-28
Packaged: 2018-04-23 20:27:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4891006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beyond_belief/pseuds/Lake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brad could go home and drink himself to sleep. Instead he goes to Ray's.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the sore spot

**Author's Note:**

> There is a lot of spanking in this. A lot.

Brad had a few at the local bar; not enough to be drunk and incapable of driving, but enough to know that if he goes home he'll cut a wide swath through his hard liquor collection in an effort to get past the 'slightly less self control' stage to the 'drunk enough not to think' stage. So he drives - at a reasonable speed - to Ray's shitty apartment building, where he lets himself in with the key he randomly has for some unknown reason. Probably when the platoon was trading keys in case of emergency, before Ray got out. 

When he finally gets the key free of the somewhat sticky lock, Ray is watching him over the back of the couch. _Independence Day_ is on the television, the volume down low. The old couple that live above Ray tend to complain about loud noises. The lady brings him cookies sometimes; Ray swears her baked goods are worth the trade-off. He never saves Brad any.

Brad opens the fridge and finds Ray's got mostly decent beer on the bottom shelf. It's in cans, probably left over from the last time everyone they know came over to drink. He pops one and downs half of it before Ray says, "Brad."

Brad takes another long swallow, then puts the empty can on the counter and circles around the couch. He sits down next to Ray. It's close enough to be a question, but not close enough for it to be a statement. Ray looks at him again, his eyebrows raised slightly. A muscle twitches in his jaw. 

Brad knows the feeling.

"You have to ask," Ray says, voice low. His dark eyes are solemn, the lines of his face serious. He's got the television remote in his hand and Brad can see his knuckles are white where he's gripping it.

This is where they'd gotten stuck the last time. The itch rising under Brad's skin and asking for release wasn't strong enough to get past his pride; he managed only a few confused breaths in Ray's space, holding still for less than a minute before fleeing. He couldn't shut his brain off, couldn't let Ray take over, even though he was sure that was what he wanted.

This time the itch is worse. "Please," he manages to rasp. The air in the apartment feels stifling hot despite the open windows. He pulls once at Ray's shirt.

Ray tosses the remote away and leans over him. His knee digs hard into Brad's thigh as his mouth slides over Brad's, skin slightly rough with stubble. It's not actually a kiss as Brad would define it. Then Ray's mouth is moving down the line of his jaw, scraping lightly with his teeth. 

Brad shudders and drops his head back, staring up at the apartment ceiling where the fan rotates slowly. Ray drifts his hand over Brad's half-hard dick and says, "Oh, you came prepared, that's good," before he digs his bony knee harder into Brad's leg and bites the muscle where his neck and shoulder join. 

Brad sucks in a sharp breath, feeling his hands curl into fists and then open again, the backs of his knuckles against the soft leather of the sofa.

"Get on your knees, drop your shorts, lean over the couch, and don't move," Ray says. Brad does it without letting himself think about what it is he's actually letting Ray do to him. 

Ray smacks his ass a few times through his briefs. The sensation is dull and Brad shifts uneasily, rubbing his face on his arms where they're folded under his head. Ray hums thoughtfully for a second before he says, "Nah, this ain't right," and peels the briefs down and off. Brad twitches as he does it. Ray digs a knuckle into the back of his knee. "And I told you not to move. Say you'll hold still, Brad."

"I won't move," Brad says. His voice sounds foreign, distant to his ears. 

The first ten strikes hurt - Ray's really putting some weight into it - and Brad gasps against his own skin and does his best not to flinch; he climbed a mountain on a broken ankle, he can stand a spanking. The next ten send him to the nice, cool corner of his mind where everything is calm and the pain simply washes over him, rolling like ocean waves. Then Ray rubs a slow, calloused hand over Brad's burning skin and says, "Turn over and let me see your cock," and the shudder that goes through Brad is nearly as painful as the force of Ray's blows. 

He flips over on the floor, drawing his knees together. Ray pushes them apart again, saying, "I didn't tell you to do that." Brad squeezes his eyes shut, breathing hard. He's not sure what Ray does, because Ray's not touching him and Brad doesn't think he can stand to see if Ray's looking at him. 

"Guess Daddy's been a good boy," Ray says dryly. Brad laughs at that, he can't help it, and somehow laughing eases the weird unsettled feeling even more. He can take a deep breath without it catching on the undefinable lump in his throat. He opens his eyes to see Ray on his knees next to him, gaze sweeping over Brad's body. 

"Pull your shirt up," Ray tells him. Brad does and Ray pinches his nipples, matter-of-factly but hard, and Brad yelps, twisting. Ray smacks the inside of his thigh. "The 'don't move' rule is still in effect, unless you forgot?"

Brad hurries to shake his head. Ray lays an identical slap on his other thigh. "I didn't forget," Brad insists.

"No," Ray says after a second of silence, "I don't think you did. I think you're doing it on purpose."

Brad blinks up at him. Ray grins. "So tell me what you want, homes. I can put you over my lap, spank your ass some more, or we can move this party into the bedroom and your dick can get the attention it clearly wants."

Brad doesn't answer immediately, a little lost in picturing the suggestions, and Ray apparently takes his silence for indecision. He quirks a smile, saying, "Or you could let me do what I want." He pinches Brad's nipple again.

Brad sucks in another deep breath, his eyes drifting shut against his best intentions. Ray huffs. " _Or_ you could nap, it's cool, I'm not gonna judge you for crash-"

"Will it hurt?" Brad interrupts.

"Will what hurt?"

He squints one-eyed at Ray, shifting slightly on the bare wood floor. "Whatever it is you want to do to me. When was the last time you swept this place?"

"Fuck you, man, I ran the vacuum on Tuesday," Ray says with a grin, slapping Brad's hip. Brad hisses and Ray's grin turns dirty. He squeezes Brad's knee. "Bedroom, Brad."

Brad pushes himself further up on his elbows and notes his erection hasn't flagged at all. Ray stands up and offers him a hand, which Brad takes. When he's on his feet, Ray smacks his ass before brushing some imaginary - Brad hopes - dust from it. Ray keeps landing firm slaps every few steps down the hall, and by the time they've reached the bedroom, Brad's ass is tingling again. "Was that - was that what you wanted to do?" he manages to ask.

Ray shoves him down onto the bed. The springs protest rather ominously and there's a creak of metal. "Part of it."

"Never do things halfway, Ray," Brad intones, mostly because he can still make his mouth work and also because he's fast losing his instinct for self-preservation. "Always go the full distance."

There's a pause. Brad wants to look over his shoulder at Ray but he doesn't. "I'll show you the _full distance_ ," Ray says finally, sliding a heavy hand up over Brad's calf.

Brad snorts into the pillow. Ray flicks his fingers against the back of his thigh, a sharp stinging flutter that makes Brad twitch. His skin feels hot, from his forehead down to his toes, and as Ray pushes his knees apart he feels hotter still. 

"Brad," Ray whispers, and leans over him, his mouth touching Brad's shoulder. "Okay?"

Brad nods. Ray's pillow smells nice and it's soft. Brad's up on his knees but it's fine, his arms are under the pillow. He can feel the concave curve of his back. There's a little stretch; he's pushing his hips forward too hard. "You're tense," Ray says.

"I'm okay," Brad mumbles. It's not really a lie. He asked for this.

Ray's fingers skate over the backs of his knees. "Relax. You can go down, if you do then I can -" he pushes Brad down flat to the bed and straddles his ass. "That."

Brad grunts. He feels less turned on now, but somehow more receptive. Like he's a sensor jacked up nearly to the limit. Ray traces a few lines of his tattoo and he shivers. He turns his head on the pillow and says, "Stop fucking pussyfooting around."

"Pussyfooting? What is this, fucking 1950 or whatever? This is part of my plan. You need to find your chill."

Brad grumbles into the pillow. Ray's hands slide up and dig hard into the muscles of his shoulders, startling a groan from him, before one hand slides down his arm and curls around his wrist. Fluidly, Ray brings Brad's hand to the small of his back, effectively pinning him to the bed. He could get free, if he wanted to wrench his shoulder and land them both on the floor doing it, but he makes himself relax further into the mattress.

Ray hums tunelessly for a second. The hand not holding Brad's runs up and down his side, from his armpit to his hip and back again. Then Ray squeezes Brad's wrist and asks, "Any better?"

Brad wants a drink. His mouth is dry. Ray squeezes his wrist tighter and pinches his waist at the same time. "Just go limp, fucker, and I'll spank you like I know you want me to."

"Ray," he gasps. 

"Brad," Ray says mockingly in response. "Dude. Go limp. I've seen you relax, I know the capability is there somewhere."

Brad tells him to shut up, then takes a careful breath, willing his muscles to loosen. It works, a little. Ray leans forward without putting extra pressure on Brad's wrist and sets his teeth against Brad's shoulder blade where it's jutting due to the twist of his arm. He doesn't break skin, but it's something for Brad to focus on.

He counts backwards from ten, concentrating on dropping more with each number, and when he gets to one, Ray is making pleased sounds against his back. "There. Feels good, doesn't it?"

Brad feels like a single drop of water could drown him. Maybe that's the point. He concentrates on keeping his breathing slow and even. Ray touches the back his neck with light fingertips before letting go of his hand. "Can you hold it like this?" he asks.

Brad wiggles his fingers lazily. "Yeah."

"Good. I'll be right back."

"What -" Brad starts, but Ray's already climbed off the bed, leaving him alone. 

Without Ray's presence to distract him from the twist in his shoulder, it becomes uncomfortable faster than Brad thinks it should. He's worked through worse. This should be nothing. But he's alone in the silent room and there's nothing for him to concentrate on.

He wiggles his fingers slowly to keep the muscles moving, sticking to a rhythm so he can at least attempt to stay in the zone. He hears footsteps as Ray returns. A bottle of water and a bottle of lotion are set on the nightstand in Brad's line of sight, and Ray gets on the bed again.

"Okay, you can move your arm," he says, helping Brad to unbend it carefully. "I mostly just wanted to see if you'd hold still."

Brad grunts into the pillow. Ray rubs his shoulder for a few seconds. Then he slides both hands down Brad's back and over his ass. Brad tenses and Ray immediately removes his hands. "Ray," Brad mumbles.

The first new blow lands without warning and Brad nearly flips them both off the bed, but Ray presses him into it, holding him down with hands on Brad's lower back. "Fuck, you're jumpy, are you sure this is really what you want?" Ray asks. His thumbs press down on either side of Brad's spine.

Brad shakes his head. Then he nods. 

"What was that?"

Brad nods again. "Yes," he says, and the word comes out sort of mushy but still audible. 

"All right." 

Ray starts hitting him in earnest, smoothly alternating blows to each side, working downward halfway to Brad's knees before starting at the top of his ass again. The pressure stays the same long enough for Brad to start to drift, the rhythm of it making it easy, and that's when Ray runs his knuckles down the cleft of his ass and Brad goes from chill to turned on so fast he nearly ruts against the mattress. 

Ray laughs at him, the fucker, and does it again and again until Brad's squirming and moving his knees apart without realizing it until Ray slaps him and his fingertips curl around Brad's leg to the inside of his thigh, so close to his balls. "Ray," Brad gasps, getting a mouthful of pillowcase because he's still trying to hide his face. 

"Something you want to show me?" Ray asks. His tone is conversational, and Brad curls his hands in the sheet so hard he hears threads pop. 

"I -" he's honestly at a loss for words, and his dick is so hard it's bordering on painful, and Ray's stroking his thigh now with light fingers. He spreads his legs further.

There's the sense of movement and warmth as Ray leans down, then Ray's mouth is right next to Brad's ear as he asks, "Did you come here to get fucked?"

"No," Brad says, the word ground out between clenched teeth as he tries to stop the thought of it from taking root in his mind. But he can't, and the idea of Ray taking him like that makes him sweat, makes him want to squirm.

"Did you really only come here for _this_?" Ray punctuates the question with a hard smack to Brad's ass. 

"No. Yes." Threads pop in the sheet again. "I don't know." 

Ray doesn't say anything for a few seconds and he doesn't touch Brad. Then he says, "How 'bout just the tip?" and Brad chokes for a second before starts to laugh so hard his eyes water and his chest hurts, and he's able to loosen his grip on the sheet. 

Ray reaches to uncurl his fingers the rest of the way before pushing Brad to roll on his side, and then Ray is kissing him for real. His teeth are sharp on Brad's bottom lip, but his tongue is gentle. Brad realizes he never asked Ray what his feelings on this situation are. "Wait, wait," he says, pushing Ray back slightly and realizing Ray's still dressed in old PT shorts and a t-shirt. "What do _you_ want?"

"It's all good," Ray says with a shrug. He palms Brad's hip. "Can I touch your dick now?"

"How about you get undressed first," Brad replies, plucking at Ray's t-shirt. 

"Undress me."

Brad does. It only takes him ten seconds to lift the shirt up over Ray's head and yank the shorts off, since Ray's not wearing anything else underneath. He's seen Ray's dick before; nothing there is a surprise, only maybe the way the head pushes out from his foreskin a little more when he's hard. He looks up to find Ray watching him. "Are we really doing this?" he asks.

"Fuck yeah we're doing this, after you just let me spank your ass to a nice cherry red -" One of Ray's eyebrows raises alarmingly fast and Brad wonders what his face looks like to make Ray cut off in the middle of a sentence like that. "Uh, actually, I'm really into consent so if you do want to stop, that's -"

Brad kisses him to shut him up and Ray responds enthusiastically, pushing Brad over onto his back and straddling him. The sheet is scratchy against his oversensitized ass and he gasps. The corner of Ray's mouth twitches. "Sensitive, huh?"

"Shut up," Brad grumbles. 

Ray slaps his stomach in reply, then pinches his left nipple hard. "How about you shut up and let me do what I want?"

Brad can - Brad can do that. It's easier that way. He nods, and if the nod's a little shaky, Ray doesn't mention it. Instead, he slides a hand down to tug lightly at Brad's pubic hair, making Brad jolt, then drags the backs of his fingers up the underside of Brad's cock. "Ray," Brad tries to say, but it comes out barely carried on his breath. 

"Shh," Ray whispers. He pushes Brad's knees apart and settles between them. "Your thighs aren't all red anymore, let's fix that."

This time Brad has no pillow to hide his face in or muffle his sounds as Ray slaps his inner thighs, and he suspects Ray of doing this completely on purpose. He bites the inside of his cheek, but that does little. Each hit is slow and deliberate, more stinging than painful, and his cock jerks with nearly every one. 

"Don't come yet," Ray says, and Brad groans, his heels sliding on the sheets, suddenly aware that he's been hard for what feels like hours. He tries to cover his face with his hand, only to have Ray grab his wrist. "No."

Brad groans again, unable to make himself look at Ray. "Brad," Ray says quietly. "Look at yourself."

Brad shake his head, because he knows he'll be painfully embarrassed at how Ray has put him completely on display. "Bra-aaa-aaa-d," Ray sing-songs. He squeezes Brad's wrist. "I think you like it. I think you want me to look at your junk like this; I think it turns you on." 

Brad manages to ask, "Does it turn you on, doing this?"

"Fuck yeah." Ray traces a slow pattern over his knee with the hand not holding Brad's. "My dick is super into this."

Brad looks at Ray's cock, which does seem very interested in the proceedings. Then Ray goes back to torturing the more sensitive skin of his inner thighs, bringing Brad right back to the line between wanting to flinch away and wanting to pulls his knees up and beg Ray to fuck him. 

Fuck, maybe this is what they've been heading towards ever since Brad _finally_ realized Ray had taken it upon himself to do whatever it took to get Brad out of his own head and stop being miserable. To realize all the bullshit that came out of Ray's mouth, the insults that never even came close to landing, and the ridiculous sing-alongs were all Ray's way of distracting Brad from himself, even now thousands of miles from that desert. 

"Jesus Christ, it took you long enough to say yes," Ray said, the first time Brad didn't shoot him down when he invited himself along to go out drinking.

"Ray," he makes himself say now, as Ray lands another smack, "please, okay? Please."

Ray makes a small, pleased sound, his mouth curving into a smile. His hands still on Brad's thighs. "Whattaya wanna do?"

Brad doesn't want to _say_ it, although he's sure Ray will insist on hearing the words out loud. He takes a careful breath and asks, "Ray, would you please put your dick in my ass before I change my fucking mind?"

"With pleasure," Ray replies with another smile before he leans down to kiss Brad. It's a little softer this time, with less teeth and more tongue. Brad reaches up with his free hand to thread his fingers through Ray's hair, longer now as a civilian, no grooming standard to say he can't pomade it up ridiculously high. It's soft to Brad's fingertips, no product keeping it in place. Ray must have showered earlier. 

He feels Ray let go of his wrist, then hands slide over his shoulders and Ray's thumbs stroke lightly over his throat. "Gotta get stuff," Ray whispers in his ear before he pulls away to yank open the nightstand drawer. Brad hears the crinkle of condom wrappers as Ray rips one off. 

"Dude, I got these tiny little capsule packet things of lube last time instead of a bottle last time I bought," Ray says conversationally, like it's cool to just chat while Brad's waiting to get fingered, "and it was like, the best decision ever. No more bottles accidentally opening and spilling everywhere, no more of that shit expiring while I'm out of town or in a dry spell -"

"Ray," Brad groans. "I don't need to know the entire history of your personal lubricant collection before we get to it here, let's go."

Ray grins down at him before he rolls on the condom. Brad slides a hand over his thigh and says, "Was that monologue on purpose?"

"Fuck yeah it was." Ray uses his teeth to open the single-use packet of lube. He squeezes some onto his fingers. "This is pretty nice slick, though," he adds, and pushes Brad's left knee out to the side. "Brad. Relax. You were all blissed out while I was wailing on you - like, that was fucking hot to watch, but trust me, this isn't going to hurt anything like that."

Brad takes a deep breath. He sees Ray roll his eyes, and then Ray's pushing one finger into him, slowly. It's more weird than it is painful, an uncomfortable sensation his body isn't sure how to interpret. "Brad, relax," Ray says dryly, and Brad exhales. Ray smirks at him and adds more lube. Then, once Brad's adjusted to the feeling of his finger moving slowly in and out, pausing every few seconds to just circle his thumb over Brad's asshole, which is also weird but feels good at the same time, Ray doubles up. It's no less weird.

"You okay?"

"Uh-huh."

Ray gives him a sideways sort of look. Then he squeezes out the rest of the stupid lube packet and tosses the empty somewhere onto the floor. Brad tries to adjust his hips and Ray rolls his eyes again, says, "If this really isn't working for you, I can do something else," before he slaps the inside of Brad's thigh with his clean hand. 

Brad jerks without thinking, his ass clenching around Ray's fingers, and that - okay, that works. "Fuck, Ray."

"Yeah?"

Brad glares at him. Ray grins in reply, twisting his fingers hard inside, making Brad arch upwards in a futile attempt to get that same exact sensation back again. Ray slaps him once more, then pulls his fingers out and grabs Brad's hips, pushing him to turn over. "Spread," he says.

Brad does, settling his knees and elbows against the mattress and turning his face on the pillow so he can breathe. "Your ass is still all red," Ray says in his ear, his tone conversational as though his dick isn't pressed up against Brad's hole, slick with lube.

"Ray," Brad tries to growl, but it comes out more a shaky moan.

"I'll put lotion on it for you later, but I might want to spank it again before we get to that."

Brad tries again. " _Ray_."

"There might be a plug around here somewhere, you could wear it while I do that."

"I really don't need to hear about your secret stash of sex toys right - _fuck_." Ray's pushing in slowly, and despite his protest Brad is one hundred percent thinking about being filled like this while Ray spanks him, and how maybe Ray's hand would hit the base of the plug. Honestly, he didn't think he had this many nerve endings in his body, but right now they are _all_ lit up. 

Ray's asking him if he's okay, he thinks, that seems to be the general idea of the words Brad's not quite hearing the entirety of. "I'm good, thanks," he manages to mutter, and even if his reply is muffled in the pillow, Ray seems to get the jist, and sets a smooth pace. It's quick, though. Brad feels left behind by his own body, his brain still hung up on getting hit even as Ray slides his hand around to wrap around Brad's cock.

"Your dick is really nice," Ray says as Brad moans. "Bet I only need to tease you a few more seconds before you come -" here his fingertips flick lightly over the slit - "but don't come yet. Don't, Brad."

Brad yells into the damp pillow. Ray toys with the slit for a second more before pulling his hand away so he can grip both of Brad's hips and start fucking him harder. He's saying something, but Brad can't make it out. His senses are tuned elsewhere. 

Ray stops thrusting to smack Brad's ass a few times as Brad groans wordlessly, grabbing at the sheet again. It pops off one corner of the mattress. Ray slaps his ass, says, "Look what you did," and starts pounding into him even harder than he was before, enough to move Brad on the sheets, friction burning his knees and forearms and adding even more to the hot and scraped feeling of his skin. 

"Ray," he pants, pushing the sound out despite feeling like his oxygen levels have gone completely negative. "Please, Ray."

Ray bites the back of his neck and gets his hand around Brad's dick again. "You can come now," he whispers, hot in Brad's ear. "I'm gonna come, too, your ass is so tight, Brad, fuck -" and that's all Brad can parse before the sound drops out just like the ocean closing over his head and the singular, excellent feeling of orgasm wipes out the lingering vestiges of shame.

Ray's panting in his ear when Brad can register anything more than heat and the stickiness of skin on skin. His mouth feels like sandpaper, parched and raw, and his eyes are stinging. It hurts a little when he swallows. Ray makes a small, tired noise and shifts carefully off of him. Brad can't help his wince as Ray's cock slides free. 

"I wish you could see what you look like right now, but you'd probably be all embarrassed and shit," Ray says, not moving any further away. 

Brad allows a vaguely agreeable noise. He should probably move; the wet spot underneath him is rapidly growing intolerable, but Ray's fingers are tracing over his ass, then flicking Brad's hole, making him whine and squirm. "Oh yeah," Ray mutters, and does it again. 

Brad huffs and makes an attempt at moving at least a little out of Ray's reach. He fails, because his limbs all feel like jello. He doesn't even get out of the wet spot. Ray chuckles and pats Brad's hip before getting off the bed, presumably to ditch the condom in the bathroom or whatever.

He's managed enough movement to scoot to a dry place on the bed by the time Ray comes back, but actually rolling over seems impossible, and Ray just laughs and trails his fingertips up the inside of Brad's leg, ankle to ass, and toys with his hole yet again. "Why," Brad mutters, still not moving. It feels good. He's still at least forty-five minutes away from getting hard again, but it feels good.

"Because you're all fucked out and exhausted and you'll let me do it." Ray yanks hard at the loose corner of the fitted sheet and tucks it back around the mattress, then sits down next to Brad.

Brad lifts his head slightly from the pillow. "I should go home."

"Fuck that, you're not going anywhere," Ray says in a tone that makes Brad put his face back into the pillow and count his breaths. "I will change the sheets since you came all over them, but the furthest you'll get to go will be the living room, and if you go that far it'll be with the plug in your ass."

Brad is reasonably sure he's going to hyperventilate. Maybe just suffocate himself with the pillowcase. 

"Hey," Ray whispers, much softer. His lips brush Brad's ear and his hand is gentle on Brad's back. "You can totally go home if you want, okay? Or we can get dressed, order some pizza, and pretend this didn't happen, if you want to do that instead."

Brad sighs. "I highly doubt I could pretend we didn't do this," he says. He squints at Ray. "Besides, I don't think I can put pants on yet."

"Like, your ass hurts too much, or you're just too wiped to move?"

"You might have to roll me off the bed to change the sheets."

Ray laughs and leans down again, this time to kiss the half of Brad's mouth not hidden by the pillow. "You'll land on the floor, that'll hurt, too. How about I put some lotion where your skin is still red, and we make a decision on pants after that?"

Brad nods and settles himself carefully again. There's a click as Ray open the bottle, then the lotion is cool where it hits his overheated skin. Ray is gentle as he spreads it over Brad's ass and thighs, and when he's done, he rubs what's left on his hands into Brad's shoulders. "Hey," he says when that's finished, and Brad's halfway to falling asleep. "Next time you need… whatever it is, just come right here. I don't care if you walk in, strip off, and go to the bedroom without even talking, okay? Standing invitation. Now drink this fucking bottle of water."

Brad snorts and sits up. Ray watches him drink most of the bottle, then says, "I do actually want to get pizza. A lot of pizza."

"No olives."

"What about pineapple?"

Brad fixes him with a glare he doesn't mean. "What kind of backwoods redneck likes pineapple on their fucking pizza?"

"Fuck you, I've been to Hawaii, pineapple is _awesome_." Ray gives him a look so earnest that Brad honestly can't tell if Ray is fucking with him or not, and feels justified in pushing him off the bed before getting up to find his pants.


End file.
